


First One to Cry Angel

by melanoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel is So Done with Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, F/M, M/M, Reader-Insert, Snarky Balthazar (Supernatural), Witches, canon typical dumbassery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoms/pseuds/melanoms
Summary: You and Dean made a bet on who would call for help from one of your angels first. Determined to win your pride and fifty bucks, you both refused to yield—even as the stakes reach deadly. Good thing Dean is one for loopholes.
Relationships: Balthazar (Supernatural)/You, Balthazar/You, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 21





	First One to Cry Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Request: Can I request hard headed reader getting into a bind on a hunt and Balthazar comes and saves her ass *the last second* just to prove she really needed help? maybe a spicy ass kiss afterwards? ;) luv you and your writings. truly amazing, you are. <3

“Why’d it have to be frickin’ witches!” Dean snapped, back firmly slammed to the wall. “You’re a billionaire heiress for God’s sake. What do you need—”

“Your commentary is not helping!” You wriggled next to him and wrinkled your nose.

In the living room of her historical mansion—purchased for the formerly residing poltergeist, of course—the witch lowered her hand and grinned at you.

“Thank you. I quite agree.”

Dean feebly angled his wrist to aim his gun. But the witch shook her head and, with a flick of her own wrist, sent the firearm flying to the antique couch on the other side of the room.

“Horrifically uncomfortable to sit on. But it’ll manage.” She smirked. “And it’s witch. Apparently they didn’t teach you to count to one in hunter school.”

“You could just…” Dean whispered, eyes darting to you.

“So could you.” 

Dean gritted his teeth and bore his eyes forward. The witch poured blood into a basin on her coffee table. She began her incantations as you and Dean fought her magic.

“C’mon, Ace. Call your boyfriend,” Dean grunted.

Your eyes widened as the bowl blazed in violet flames.

“Not until you call yours first.”

“We’re not, not quite seeing eye to eye.”

“That’s a shame. Mine’s searching for the Holy Grail.”

“D’ya think God smelled like elderberries?”

But you were saved the indignity of replying by a searing pain in your abdomen.

“Call it,” Dean hissed, unable to buckle over in agony as you two were still bound to the wall. With the world’s ugliest wallpaper to top it all off.

“You...first...Winchester.”

Upon the piercing sound of gunfire, you and Dean collapsed to the floor. Eyes darting around, your gaze landed on the witch as blood tricked down her stomach. Her hands painted themselves scarlet and her body united with the equally ancient floorboards.

Balthazar examined Dean’s gun.

“I honestly thought that would feel more satisfying.”

In a blur of beige and ruffled feathers, Castiel rushed to heal your injuries. Hands over your stomach, you let your head collapse to the floor.

“I hate you.”

“I believe the proper term is—”

“Not you, Cas!” 

You rolled your head just enough to glare at Dean lying down next to you.

“You,” Dean gasped, “you still prayed to Cas.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Castiel rose to his feet and looked down on your sorry asses.

“I did,” Balthazar announced. “After your poorly veiled cries for help, I thought you two could use the opportunity to, what do they call it? Figure your shit out.”

Castiel offered his hand to you and helped you to your feet.

“Thank you,” you grumbled.

“You’re welcome.”

You narrowed your eyes at Dean. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

Dean sprang to his feet and held up a finger. 

“No, no. We said first one to call _their_ angel. Possessive.”

Balthazar crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Please. Say that again.”

“Y’know what I mean…” Dean gulped. “I prayed to you. Not…”

Was it getting hotter in here? He was certain one of the celestial beings was cranking up the damn heat in this place. And it was not the one in the v-neck.

“I hate you and your dumbass loopholes.” You scowled at him.

“You two...made a bet about not asking for our assistance?” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Even in life threatening situations?”

“I had it covered,” you defended.

“If by covered, you mean the razor blades lining your stomach, then yes. Exquisite job well done.” 

Balthazar beamed at you, practically begging you to stamp the grin from his face with your knuckles.

“Do you know how dangerous your hubris is?” Castiel questioned.

“Yeah, Dean—”

“Both of you.” Balthazar glared at you.

Avoiding his searing gaze, you strutted to the front door. You grunted as you practically yanked the damn thing off its hinges.

“Just where are you going?” Balthazar asked.

“To get my gun.”

With a deadpan expression, he held up your firearm.

“How did this get on the bloody roof?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Returning to the living room, you lunged for your weapon. But Balthazar yanked it from your reach.

“Only if you promise to admit defeat and ask for help when you need it.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel groaned.

“Fine. Promise me you will pray to me if you ever need my assistance.”

“Oh, you’re the worst.” You scowled at him.

“Promise. Me.”

You bore your eyes into his. But as Balthazar’s expression softened, you sucked in a breath and clenched your jaw.

“Fine.”

“Say it.”

“If I’m in trouble, I’ll...I’ll pray to you.”

“Oh, thank Dad.”

He latched his palms to the side of your face, simultaneously transporting you to your room at the bunker with a single kiss. His fingers trailed across the nape of your neck and your waist to draw you closer. 

But you pulled away with a gasp.

“So you do care? Under that don’t give a crap facade.”

“You are far too talkative for your own good.”

He pressed his lips to yours again, answering your question in a way words never could.

Back at the witch’s mansion, Dean gestured to the cooling corpse.

“They just left us with her. And he took my gun!”

“Us?” Castiel raised his eyebrows.

“Well...I mean…”

“Why can’t you be as amicable as she is?”

“If you like her so much, why don’t you just kiss her already?”

“Why would I kiss her when I prefer kissing you?”

Dean grimaced at the bloodstains across the floor and cleared his throat. Rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly raised his gaze to Castiel.

“Cas, will you help me out?”

“Of course. The answer is always yes.” He glanced at the body and furrowed his brow. “Only if we can end our argument similarly.”

“Oh, we will. But it ain't gonna be so PG.”

Dean winked at him before calculating the moral repercussions of dumping a body with an Angel of the Lord. Not that he really cared what they even were.


End file.
